


Master

by Writing-Classic-Rock (writingfanfic)



Category: The Beatles
Genre: F/M, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 17:55:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7584211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Classic-Rock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: -prompt- close friends of the Beatles get married. at the after party reader keeps teasing Paul making him have a bulge in his pants for the rest of the night. when they get home he punishes reader for what they've done. more bdsm, eating out, hand cuffs, and stuff like that.</p><p>Nothing too heavy, I've not written smut in a while. Paul and the reader are at a wedding when she decides to tease him...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Master

“Isn’t she beautiful?”

You sigh before taking another sip of your lemonade, and Paul leans in, pressing his mouth close to your ear.

“Yer not getting’ ideas, are yeh?”

You hear the smile in his voice as he does so, and you can’t help but blush, fingers playing with the day collar you wear – a beautiful silver with a dark scarlet rose pendant. It’s a mark of ownership, and right now, your owner is stroking your arm and talking marriage. _Help!_

The bride is stunning; she’s an old school friend of yours, and you suspect your invite has more to do with your plus-one than your friendship, which was never exactly the most intimate. However, you bear her no ill-will, and as you watch her lace dress sparkle under the lights, you lean your head against him and sigh.

“Yeh’d look better,” he murmurs, and you shake your head, enjoying the rough pads of his fingers – toughened from bass playing – stroking your soft arm. “O’ course, I might have to specify yeh don’ wear underwear…” You flush even redder, and swat at his arm, and he grins.

“You’d get a surprise when you went up there to get my garter,” you reply, voice barely above a breath, and he looks at you with those hazel eyes – in the dimness of the room, the green in them is evident, and you feel a little dizzy just looking at them. His touch on your arm has stilled and his fingers are digging into you; you feel your stomach flip a little, and he pulls you slightly. You’re in a dark corner at a table, and everybody else is enjoying social time – you take the bait, and shift onto his lap.

“Yeh wanna tease me, little love?” he asks, a little breathlessly, and you squirm against him; you’re feeling a little playful from the atmosphere, and as he wraps his arms around your waist, you know you just look like a couple being close and a little tipsy. Nobody knows that you’re obeying your master… and you like it. “Yeh sure you wanna play this?”

Your response is to grind down on him again, and you feel his erection press against your thigh – your dress feels cotton-thin, and you feel a little tingly all over as he kisses your neck.

“Paul! (Y/N)!”

You jump a little as the bride appears as if from nowhere, and stand up; Paul pulls his chair in, smiling politely, and you pray to god he doesn’t have to stand up. The bride kisses your cheek, and you congratulate her enthusiastically; Paul shakes the groom’s hand from where he sits, and you engage in a few seconds of banter before the couple move on, and you sit back onto Paul’s lap.

“Yer gonna pay for teasin’ me later,” he murmurs into your ear, and your heart speeds up. Oh _dear_.

* * *

You close the door behind you, heart racing; you think you might be in trouble, and indeed, Paul has gone ahead of you with no further instruction than to wait there. You get down on your knees, and wait there, wondering where he’s gone – idly you muse on the boyish, charming persona the public thinks he has, and can’t help but giggle to yourself. Well, none of them have ever seen him with a riding crop…

“Summat funny goin’ on?”

You look up – Paul is at the top of the stairs, and he’s looking… breath-taking. Gone are his suit pants – instead, he’s in a pair of ripped jeans, faint sprinkling of chest hair obvious now his shirt has been discarded, and as he smirks at you, your heart pounds.

If you have it your way, nobody else is _ever_ going to see him with a riding crop.

“Upstairs,” he orders, and you nod, scrambling to your feet and up the stairs – he doesn’t do anything as gauche as swat at your arse as you go past. He can wait to get what he wants. “Onto the bed. All fours.”

You obey, still in your orange dress from the night do; you cannot see him, but you can hear, listening to his calm, measured breathing as he circles the bed. How he can be so in control makes your stomach fill with butterflies; that’s why you’re so perfect together, you guess.

“Okay,” he said, and you feel his fingers hike your dress up and take a hold of the hem of your underwear, “love, do yeh know what you did?” You nod, and he pulls them down slowly, leaving your dress hiked up and you exposed. “Tell me, little love.”

“Teased you?” you try, and suddenly your arse is on fire – you gasp, and there’s a low laugh.

“Teased me, what, love?”

“Teased you, Master,” you whimper, and there’s another stinging blow to your other cheek. It must be his belt. “Ah-!”

“Well done. Gotta keep it even, though,” he says, reflectively. “Now, little love, why shouldn’t yeh tease yer Master?” You pause for a second too long, and there’s another biting sting and a _crack!_ “Answer me.”

“B-because you’ll punish me?” you say timidly, and a fourth starburst of pain tells you that you are wrong.

“Yeh shouldn’t _want_ to tease,” he growls, all niceties gone. If the press could see this side of Paul, there’d be a front page revolution. “Yeh know I’m just gonna take what I want… little love.” You shiver. _Please do_. “Which is what I’m gonna do.”

“I’m sorry, Master,” you gasp – four is pretty tame for him, which means there is more on the way, and you’re not fond of that idea at all… except you are. The thought of him getting off on your punishment and humiliation – well… maybe that was part of the reason you were teasing him in the first place.

“Good girl,” he breathes, and you feel his fingers on your bare skin, fingers splayed across your bare cheeks, thumb sliding down over your wetness – god, when had that happened? You’re soaked, suddenly, and you feel a shiver run down your entire body. Who can blame you…?  “Now, don’t make a sound, little love, unless yer tellin’ me yer close…”

There’s a moment where you can feel his breath on your thighs and then his mouth is on you, and you grip onto the bedsheets, eyes wide – you weren’t expecting this. Isn’t he going to punish you? This feels… His tongue slowly glides over you, and you moan without thinking – his mouth is suddenly gone from you, and then the belt bites back into your skin again.

“Ah!” you gasp.

“I did tell yeh not to make a noise,” he murmurs, and then his mouth is back on you again. You shiver and whimper as he eats you out, but you are good – you don’t make another noise, and before long you feel warmth building up in your stomach, your thighs… all centring on his tongue on your clit.

“C-close,” you gasp, remembering his warning, and he pulls back again; you nearly mewl in disappointment, until you remember the belt, and bite your lip.

“Good girl,” he repeats, pressing a kiss to your lower back, and then you feel something around your ankle, before it is pulled taught, nearly sending you tumbling onto your face. “Spread yer legs, woman. Yer good enough at it.” You do so, aware that you must be glisteningly wet – god, you ache – and as he does the same to your other ankle, you realise you are still wearing your dress. It somehow makes you feel _more_ exposed.

“Master,” you breathe, and there’s a sigh, before nails rake down your thighs. You whimper, and there’s a follow-up spank to your sensitive, bruised skin.

“Now, just because the belt’s in use elsewhere, doesn’t mean yeh can disobey me.” You feel him kneel behind you, and as he presses against you you can feel his erection again. “This is what I was thinkin’ about doin’ for that entire bloody party.” He kisses your back again, and then you feel him, still pressed close to you, fumbling with his buttons. You grind back against him – you need to come, you need him to let you… “Behave, love.” Another kiss, and then nails again, this time down your hips – he pushes your dress up a little further, and then you feel his uncovered erection pressing against you. “Do yeh want me to fuck you…?”

“Please, Master,” you gasp, and there’s a chuckle that you can _tell_ comes with a smirk.

“Don’t yeh dare come ‘til I say,” he says, warningly, and you nod, fingers gripping the sheets again; you feel your body shiver as he slides into you, and then he’s gripping your hips, thumbs smoothing over your skin gently. “G-good girl.” The little shake in his voice is the first sign of lost control, and you grind back against him gently. “Don’ make me regret callin’ yer that.”

His fingers tangle in your hair and he begins to thrust into you, gently – the grinding of his hips against you makes your body twitch, but you try and hold on, holding it until you’re sure your chest will burst – he takes pity on you, and strokes your head.

“Yeh can moan, baby. I want to h-hear yeh…” he moans, and you oblige, arching your back and gasping for him. The caress of his fingers, his body pressed so close to where the belt has left you tender; you can feel a pulse in every inch of skin that he touches, and you aren’t sure if it’s his or yours.

“Paul…” you whine, and he runs his fingers softly over your skin, gently stroking the burning lines down your skin he has left with his nails.

“Don’t you dare,” he repeats, words slurring a little, and you close your eyes, trying to hold in the aching, desperate need to come. “God… yeh, love…” His fingers tangle back in your hair, and with a jerk he pulls your head back. “Love, yer gonna make me…”

His nails bite into your hip as he cums, panting filth in that beautiful voice, and you shiver against him as his hips grind against you, the friction making you whimper. You need him so badly, the pain as he still pulls your hair adding to the sensation overload…

“Don’t,” he gasps, and you grit your teeth as he slowly releases his grip on your hair, sliding out of you – you miss the contact with him, and then he gently sits you up, pulling your dress over your head. That done, he guides you to lie down, and holds you close to him, fingers gently stroking over your goose-bumped, prickled skin.

“Paulie,” you whisper, and he kisses you.

“Yer so good,” he smiles gently, and you cuddle up. “What?” A smirk appears on his face. “Oh, yeh didn’t get to come…” You nod, wide-eyed, and he kisses you. “Well, that’ll teach yeh not to tease.”

“Hmm!” you pout, and get a gentle swat to your arse in return. It _stings_. “Ah!”

“Right. But yeh do get anythin’ else you want,” he says softly. “Let me get somethin’ for that.” You pout a little, but then smile as he kisses you again, and strokes a finger down your side. “An’ then… a cuppa?”

“…oh, alright. You romantic,” you sigh, and he strokes your hair. “Thank you… Master.”

“An’ don’t you forget it,” he says smugly.


End file.
